ThoseWhoLived: Oneshots
by fire and napalm
Summary: Those unseen scenes, before the story began or in someone else's perspective. Things like the Jabberwocky incident to come and what caused my alternate universe, along with several others. Requests from those reading welcome! Spoilers: details inside.
1. One Change

**Spoilers for: Chapter Twenty-seven (beginning of fifth year). Drabble series, rating: T**

**One Change**

**Fall, 1979**

Regulus wasn't thinking; his mind lost in a haze of green. He only knew he was too thirsty to abide. The cool, cold water they'd crossed, oh so close. What was it to plunge down his face, gulp the sweet, cool liquid? It was honey on his tongue.

Cold hands grabbed his hair; he gasped, swallowing water, scrambling at the rocky shore, to stay above the surface. His wrist broke; hair left his scalp.

Everything moved, his feverish face dripping onto the carpet of his room. He glanced around; so dizzy, hardly aware of Kreacher's panic and the golden locket.

IIII

**March, 1980**

Regulus ducked down the alley, praying the watchers hadn't seen. He needed out of here, but his mother was a danger; she knew not that he survived, lost in the curse he'd thrown as soon as he was prepared to leave, as soon as he could leave.

He wasn't expecting to bump into a woman down the bolthole, much less one several months pregnant. She grabbed his arm and stared up at his face.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

Startled, he answered, "Regulus. What are you …" He prepared to pull his wand to defend himself, prepared to act if she screamed. She held tighter to his arm instead and searched his face.

"You're hiding, aren't you?"

He couldn't answer.

"Hide with me."

The blonde woman was watching him, her face expectant, demanding. Regulus could barely remember his last meal; his last night spent sleeping without worry. Why would he take on someone else?

A glance at her belly made him flinch. The bump wasn't large, but it was obvious. What would happen if he said no?

Was this stupid protective inclination built in?

"Who are you?" He demanded in return.

"Amber Callough."

"Fine." Regulus snarled. "Where do we go?"

IIII

**Nov 1, 1981**

Amber always sent him away, leaving him to merely know where she was and bring food and clothes. Occasionally, he would gift Alan with a toy he'd found. He hadn't known having a godson would feel so _giddy._ But nothing was safe.

Samhain, 1981, something went wrong.

He hadn't wanted to _exist_ that evening; the Dark Lord enjoyed attacks on Samhain, and if his survival and betrayal were discovered, he would die. The necklace remained with Kreacher – he didn't want to touch it. He could come back when he knew how to destroy it, if Kreacher had not managed.

Not being with Amber salvaged his life in place of hers.

The tiny cottage was shattered, broken, a wall torn out, roof sagging. Regulus came too late, wand out, but the attackers were gone. The only sound was a baby's wail.

Regulus picked up Alan and focused on the instructions Amber had given him, checking and double-checking the letter she'd written months ago. He left, burning the house behind him, burning his tears from his eyes – but he had no time for a grave. He had to care for his godson, had to live for his godson.

He had to leave.

IIII

_**Nov 1,1981 (Salem)**_

The sterile walls around the desk contributed to his shaky breath. He stubbornly stepped up and coughed politely. An older woman pulled her glare from the tittering and laughing further down the desk to glare at him. Regulus refused to be intimidated; his mother was scarier than her.

"I'm looking for Ginger Callough. I need to speak with her."

The woman grunted and pointed at the laughter. "Speak to the seated blonde brat."

Regulus refused to thank her and stepped over. The tittering quieted, a few of the women noticing the child he held. Predictably, Alan began to stir and mumble softly. He was still groggy from the sleeping potion for the plane ride. The seated blonde addressed him, curious and quiet, mindful of the child. "What can I help you with, sir?"

Regulus fumbled the letter out of his shirt and handed it over. "It's from your sister, Amber. She told me to find you and give you this in case of her death. She said you could help me, and her son."

Ginger's eyes tightened upon mention of her sister, but she glanced up to Alan and softened, taking the letter. The brown-haired woman standing outside the desks eyed Alan.

"When did he eat last?"

"I've been on a plane eight hours with no supplies or food. I dosed him to sleep the whole way." Regulus answered, unable to look at her, unwilling to mark the time.

She clicked her tongue. "Careless." She scolded. "Give him here."

Regulus scowled. "He's my godson. I'll take care of him soon. I just …" He wilted. He had nothing, _was_ nothing, here. No name, no money, no weight. He ducked his head. "I just want to do something right. He's _mine._" He finished weakly.

Her face softened, but Ginger swore before covering her mouth. The second blonde leaned over, eyeing the letter. "What's wrong?"

Ginger frowned up at him, torn. "I'm sorry, I can't help you. I can barely take care of myself."

Regulus' heart clenched. "Please. I will get a job. I don't want to burden you, but … I have nothing. Just Alan."

Ginger shook her head. "I'm sorry …" A bell rang and she glared at it.

"May I see the letter?" The brunette asked. Ginger handed it over and she scanned it before glancing at Ginger, lifting her hand to tap her lip. A young, black-haired woman joined them, sitting herself on the desk, glancing at Regulus before whispering with the others. All he heard was, "twins … burnt the roof … remember … custard disaster … Geoffrey _laughed_ … "

The brunette watched much as he did and smiled, glancing back at the letter, and turning to him. "I think I might talk my husband into putting you up. It won't be a problem."

Regulus frowned, biting down his objections. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You won't be." She glanced to Ginger, but the woman was looking past her, watching a tall, dark-haired man lead two redheaded boys out of the milling students by their ears. She looked back at him wryly. "I suspect we'd have had a part in this soon enough anyways."

Regulus adjusted Alan again and grimaced. "Why?"

"Ginger is _quite_ fascinated by my brother-in-law." The woman teased loudly enough to get the attention of the other young women. Ginger startled and glared at her, blushing.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just saying my husband won't mind talking to his family about putting up our friends here for a while."

"Oh." Ginger smiled shyly, her ire forgotten. "Thank you, Mel. Really, I hate to turn them away, but I have nothing to offer."

"No problem." Mel answered, smiling. "You're as good as family. Come, Regulus." She left before either could complain, Regulus following obediently. He could swallow his pride; Alan came first. Alan had to come first.

"Who are you that you can do this?" Regulus queried.

The woman beamed back at him. "Mellisande Alfaerus."

"Who?" Regulus vaguely knew the name; it was an American pureblood line. His mother had considered them negligible. He had agreed.

She only smiled and led him outside. "You'll see soon enough."

IIII

One change in a day told of his survival.

Kreacher pulled him from the cave by the sea, freeing him of the inferi.

Amber, in need of him much less then he needed her. She gave him purpose.

He broke when Voldemort killed her, but fortune gave him Alan.

Last, but not least, meeting Mellisande Alfaerus, where she took his godchild, gave him a family, strength he badly needed.

And Alan became the boy who could meet his fate.

Fortune treated him as a tool, but those one days led to luck he'd forgotten … the end of this war.

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A/N: The first of the oneshots, because I love you all, because we passed the point of the particular spoiler for it, because I actually have it finished, and because I was so happy to see six reviews I just couldn't help myself. I don't have them all complete, but I have a few and would love more ideas. Not all will be in drabbles; that's just how this one ordered itself in my head. I think I'll post the next one ... next month? Unless I get excited or something. But definitely next month at the latest. I do hope you like this, thank you so very much for reading. Please review!

Fire & Napalm


	2. Lily

**Spoilers for: Nothing. Drabble-ish, rating: K+**

**Lily **

_Nov 1, 1981 _

Lily had been less than enthused when she was told her son was in mortal danger. He was her first child; precious, beautiful, sweet… Life was more important to her than pride, so she accepted the Fidelius, accepted and waited, nearly cut off from her friends.

The doorbell stirred her from her quiet contemplation, and she slipped down the stairs; James had already gone to bed, so she just told him she had it, it couldn't be much. He didn't listen, following behind her, wand in hand. At the door, she glanced outside and frowned, quickly pulling the door open. Sirius looked very worried.

"Sirius? Is everything alright?"

"Peter wasn't in his house." Sirius answered. "I couldn't find him. There wasn't sign of a struggle."

Lily paled. "But what about the Fidelius?"

"Dumbledore contacted me. It's gone. Peter must have dissolved it."

"Voldemort –"

"Our _spy_," Sirius spat the word, "has given no word. We'll have to wait it out."

Lily glanced at James, worried.

"The Fidelius was the only reason this was safest. I'm sorry, Lily. We must leave."

Lily held her breath a moment, and then nodded. "I understand. I'll … tell my friends. Thank you, Sirius."

Sirius nodded tensely. "Potter manor?"

Lily had walked past him, but James nodded and caught her around the waist. "I know you think it's too much, Lily," He murmured, "but please. The wards will keep us nearly as safe."

"How will I keep an eye on Harry in so many rooms?" She asked softly. "It's as big as Hogwarts." James raised an eyebrow and she swatted him. "You know what I mean, you goof. I'm not used to such opulence. Our children will be spoiled."

"Well, they'll know how to navigate Hogwarts." He offered.

Lily just sighed. "We're leaving tonight?"

He nodded. "I don't want to stay here without the Fidelius. Sirius, come help me pack."

Lily nodded and slipped upstairs to begin the clothing. She'd leave for the sake of her son, but mourned the life she wanted, a small house in a village, friends within reach, people she felt comfortable with.

It was silly. She was a witch now, but she still wished to understand the worries of muggles. It was a stupid idea; a desire to connect with her sister, whom she'd left behind… Who no longer cared.

Once the clothes were together, Lily returned to Harry's baby room and stroked his mop of black hair softly, gently.

In the weeks that followed, they remained holed up, careful with their guests, but by Christmas the news had filtered down that Voldemort hadn't been seen, that the Death Eaters were scattered, unorganized.

Pettigrew was never found. Information was handed over that he had turned, and James, Sirius, and Remus were furious for months. Lily held her baby close and felt so very thankful she had been spared, thankful Neville had been.

She never knew what had really happened.

She never knew why, no access to any insight.

IIII

_Nov, 1982_

Lily wasn't sure she approved Dumbledore's idea, but she couldn't bring herself to object. He had told her, before he'd confided in the rest of the Order, before the trials began, that his spy in the Death Eaters was Severus Snape.

That Severus had changed loyalty for love of _her._

It was unsettling. She was a married woman, she had a son, she might be expecting again – and she had married the man Severus hated. And still, he loved her?

The door opened, and Lily leapt to her feet, watching Severus enter cautiously. The dark eyes that met hers were tormented, but she could see an acceptance in them Severus had never had before.

"Lily." His voice cracked softly.

"Severus." She answered, tone rigidly polite. "It's … good to see you. I'm glad …" She stopped herself. That might not sound appropriate. _Glad you're on our side._

Severus' lips twitched. "I am grateful to have had the chance to make the choice." Apparently he knew what she meant anyways.

Lily turned quickly away and walked to the other side of the room. His eyes were troubling, weighing. She knew, she could easily guess how much he cared. "I'm married, Severus." She finally reiterated. "I might be pregnant again."

"Congratulations." Severus sounded almost genuine, although quite polite. Lily wilted.

"Well, probably not. We are hoping, though."

Severus sighed. "I would be overjoyed to see you have another child. Harry is … sweet." He sounded strained.

"He looks like his father." Lily pointed out cautiously.

"He has your eyes. Your smile."

Lily smiled faintly and turned to face Severus. "Why did you want to meet with me?"

Severus blinked slowly and glanced away. "I wanted to know if you would accept my apologies for past wrongs and if I … if I might be your friend again."

Lily wasn't sure what to say. She wanted to, but … "Why the change? If you want to be my friend, you're going to have to put up with James." Lily straightened her back. "I love James, Severus. He is firm on some issues, but he is neither stifling nor fanatical. He is kind, diligent, and strong – he is no more flawed than you are, Severus. Can you accept him, as my husband if not your friend?" Her lips twisted. "I doubt he could do the same for you."

Severus shrugged. "I don't expect him to ever be my friend. I think if he tried, I would have to check if the sky were falling." He hesitated, and then sighed, taking the free chair. "I … found a confidant, while I was … a Death Eater. She was very kind, understanding. She allowed me to unload my troubles and helped me to understand myself and my choices. I … I do not believe I would be able to reconcile without her, although I always would have left given the choice of loyalty or your life."

"Who was she?" Lily asked carefully. "She sounds like a delightful woman."

Severus shrugged awkwardly. "Amber Callough. She was …" He looked away a moment. "A squib, and a whore. But she was also willing to simply be company without sex. I was bereft of other neutral company."

Lily nodded. She was shocked some, but she couldn't have expected much else. She kept her smile, even if it had trembled. "Could I meet her?"

"She disappeared nearly two years ago."

Lily frowned sympathetically. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't that attached to her, although it was unsettling. The Dark Lord had had an interest; rumour said the Calloughs were a cadet line of Slytherin at some point. I had no chance to verify the claim."

Lily nodded again. "That would make her a target. Severus …" What could she say? She was feeling lonely, leaving behind Godric's Hollow. Alice was wonderful company, four months pregnant, but she would return to work eventually. Emmeline and Hestia were airheads and Augusta was a harpy, while Mary had to work long hours. Severus was intelligent and brilliant. "Thank you. I'd love to be your friend again."

Severus' smile brought out the best in his face.

She just wished she wouldn't have to argue James down.

* * *

A/N: Second segment. Lily's POV of those lovely, troubled first years and Severus' more complete change of heart. Gotta love it. Hope you enjoy,

Fire & Napalm


	3. The Salem Blunders

**

* * *

**

Spoilers: None, really. Scene shots, rating: T.

_Essentially, this is for those of you wanting proof of the Alfaerus insanity and curious about the Jabberwock_

The Salem Blunders

_**Nov 1, 1981**_

Salem: Two schools, separated by gender. While that was arguably a ridiculous notion, it was one that had lasted two hundred years and hadn't changed yet. It didn't look like it would give in anytime soon either.

Of course, that didn't stop a few boys from trying.

"This is crazy, Geoffrey!"

"Hush Ray. We're almost there."

"I don't like this."

"Ray, shut up! Or we're gonna get caught!"

The second redhead shut up, but mumbled under his breath, "I'm blaming you when we do."

"Fine." The other boy answered, peering around the corner. "No one's there. C'mon."

"Why'd you bring me?" Ray whined. "Surely you could talk Velorian or Amaranth into this."

"Amaranth's meeting me there with Green." Geoffrey mumbled distractedly. "Velorian's busy with Koreol and Andrew."

"And I'd bet Tara too." Ray grumbled.

"Nah, they aren't talking again."

"Give it two weeks."

Geoffrey grinned and then straightened, glancing around and striding down the hall, Ray trailing him with hunched shoulders. They slipped into a short alcove leading to an unused door and Geoffrey knocked twice, paused, knocked three times, paused, and knocked once. A muffled clatter echoed, and then a blonde young man quickly pulled the door open.

"I told you to cut it with the code knocks! You almost fouled the spell!"

"C'mon Amaranth, you said you had it down." Geoffrey wheedled.

"I'm pretty certain, but _honestly_. You wanna keep risking that?"

"What is this spell supposed to do?" Ray demanded. Amaranth glared at him.

"You brought Raleigh?" Amaranth asked dryly.

"He insisted."

"You should have insisted he stay!" Amaranth growled.

"You brought Green."

"Green is useful! He's great at grounding a spell and casting barriers!"

"Only because he explodes potions in his face every other day!"

"Don't mock my brother!"

"Make me stop!"

"Guys, classes are going to let out before you get the spell done!" Green pointed out.

Amaranth pouted several moments more and then threw his hands in the air, turning back to his notebook. Geoffrey walked over to look through it with him, Raleigh shifting nervously from foot to foot near the door while Green stared into space. Raleigh quickly began to regret coming along, so he glanced over at Green.

"What's this spell supposed to do anyways?"

"It's an infinite probability spell they're trying to tweak to make a girl's undergarments shift one foot to their left."

Raleigh blinked. "Do they realize how caught they're going to get?"

"Probably not." Green's eyes drifted a little creepily and Raleigh edged away slightly. The sixteen-year-old was several months into his Potions apprenticeship and working on his Masterwork. He currently had shrapnel scars on his cheek and forearms – his cauldron had exploded, but fortunately the potion had turned dilute and unharmful. The metal shards, however, had not.

"How are you going to explain your presence?" Raleigh asked wearily.

"Brother needed a grounding. I'm not thinking straight." He glanced down at him and grinned. "It's a useful argument, really, and most people buy it."

"Lucky you." Raleigh grumbled.

"Alright!" Geoffrey called. "We're heading out!"

"Out?" Raleigh queried. "Why out?"

"Because Ginger works the front desk and won't be in the halls." Green muttered quietly. Raleigh blushed slightly, but listened to his brother and Amaranth. He'd just say he got hauled into it against his will.

"Quiet, you two. Green, you ready?"

"Sure." Green nodded carefully, his eyes unfocused again. What was he doing, imagining a page and rereading it? Or was he some kind of schizo?

Geoffrey mouthed now and strode out of the room, walking down the halls as Amaranth trailed him. Raleigh walked next to Green and tried not to look guilty. The bell would ring any minute now …

It rang, and Amaranth slowed, clearly concentrating hard. The doors opened, the girls walked out, sending them curious and suspicious glances, but splitting around them to drift to lockers and next classes. Amaranth relaxed, waiting, but nothing had happened. Geoffrey immediately leaned down to whisper into his ear – and then a girl shrieked behind them. Raleigh spun immediately, and another girl screamed,

"_Who put pudding in the lockers?"_

Green immediately snickered. "Well, the spell worked. It just didn't focus right."

"Ah Hell." Geoffrey whined. "So much work …"

"What were you boys up to?" A silky voice asked.

_Oh no, not him._ Raleigh turned to look up at the red haired professor staring down at each of them. He listened irritably to Geoffrey's quick explanation that they'd been trying to get a spell to randomly move food for a while now and hadn't expected it to work quite so well; astonishing, really, yes?

It didn't fool the vampire. "If you had indeed intended to move vanilla pudding, unless you were using an _non-permissible infinite probability spell_, you wouldn't have ended up with _pineapple custard_ instead. Much less would it randomly end up in lockers, and not on the floor."

Raleigh noticed Amaranth was clearly losing his temper moments before he started mumbling under his breath. He wondered why the teacher hadn't done anything when Amaranth suddenly relaxed again and scowled at the lack of reaction. Professor Jernigan turned to him and raised his eyebrow.

"Cleverly executed and refined. Under such direct circumstances the spell works marvellously." Amaranth leaned back and prepared to speak, but Jernigan spoke over him. "It would work better had I bothered with such extraneous clothing. Now then, I believe you and Green should be escorted to your mother and Raleigh and Geoffrey have an appointment with their father."

All parties involved wilted, and Raleigh winced. Geoffrey and their father?

Did. Not. Mix.

The incident, however, dovetailed with another benchmark. Geoffrey's shouting match with their father was defused by Fenris stepping in, getting Geoffrey to shut up, and distracting both of them with the mention of Ginger's nephew, albeit Raleigh was quite confident it was two entirely different factors distracting the parties. Either way, the incident was overshadowed within the family by Alan's arrival.

The school didn't let them live it down, though.

IIII

**_Autumn, 1986_**

Alan was a curious child. A little too curious. Potions fascinated him. When Green was comfortable with his current project and confident in it's safety, he would let Alan sit on a high stool nearby, watching, ever since he was three. He listened to the stern order not to touch, particularly after burning himself once or twice. Green would set him up; the potion was a burn healer, so Alan nursed sore fingers for several minutes until it finished and it was relieved.

He didn't touch again.

Of course, with Green, touch was one of the lesser dangers. He forgot, on occasion, Alan was in the room, and expanded his tests, creating potentially dangerous combinations: flares, smoke, small explosions. However, he remembered to shun highly reactive potions with Alan there. The particularly dangerous ingredients stayed under lock and key.

Danger struck when the potion's room was unlocked during an experiment, and nobody had told Alan not to enter. He was five years old. Naturally, a shut door didn't stop him.

The door should have been locked.

Alan didn't notice the gas. It floated, high above his head. As it drifted down the hall, it faded from the room. He coughed faintly, but the gas diffused quickly, leaving his level safe.

It was so strange. The men were coughing hard, hacking, gasping. Alan was scared, but ran inside. He knew Green was there. He knew Green would protect him even as the men started to fall, bloody foam on their lips.

Green was over by the upset cauldron, rolled to the far bench, curled around himself and choking, wheezing. His eyes looked black; there was vomit beneath the cauldron as well. He shuddered; Alan halted in place, terrified.

"Green! Green! Get up, get up!" He called, weakly. He put his hand on Green's dragon hide boots, but pulled back as he felt an itch. His palm was already red. "_Green_."

The whimper made his eyelids flutter, and Green struggled to pull a small, round mirror out of his pocket. Alan remembered the mirror and walked over, swaying a little as a headache started. His vision shifted fitfully, and finally he grabbed the mirror and gasped out, "Blue! Blue!"

Amaranth was furious at first: he hated the nickname Alan had given him, but Alan sobbed and cried, and Amaranth soon assumed the danger and ordered a lockdown. Alan sat in the lab for half an hour, sobbing, terrified, before anyone could save him without falling victim to the gas. Green was in a coma for three weeks; the four other young men working there were dead. His brother's spell work saved him, a necklace prototype that halted poison. The necklace burned a scar into his chest, but saved his life.

Alan refused to enter a lab for two years, sleeping in his Godfather's bed, plagued by nightmares. He spent the time learning protective spells very early, re-entering only when he got the more refined version of Green's necklace – and learned not all danger came in a lab.

IIII

**_Spring, 1987_**

"_The fear in a Jabberwock isn't size or strength. It's just hideous, devious, and the largest carnivore in America, big enough to chew on horses. Not to mention it has hallucinogenic poison and a voice fit to make a banshee throttle it in offence."_

"Why did they want me?" Geoffrey asked.

The guide ahead of him shrugged and returned to driving the jeep. Geoffrey held onto the handhold above his head and scowled.

"Whatever. I'll thrash it out." He glared around the trees edging the trail they followed, and growled back, "Are my friends going to be in there yet?"

"They probably apparated straight in." The guide answered.

Geoffrey ground his teeth. "And I was stopped, why?"

"I wanted you to see the area you're going to be beating through."

"Peachy." Geoffrey frowned but made a point of looking around the forested area, rough terrain, and the small river nearby. "What's that river?"

"Chattahoochee River."

"Chat-a-what?" Geoffrey whipped his head around. "Isn't that some backwater?"

"It supposedly came from the word for 'Painted Rock'." The guide scowled at him; whoops, possible native here. "It has just as much likelihood of being the name of the Jabberwock or the sound of its cry."

"The Jabberwock makes _what_ sound?" Geoffrey didn't believe it.

"You haven't heard one yet. You will. We're here."

Geoffrey glanced forward and grinned to see his friends. His oldest brother was in attendance, along with his brother-in-law, Alma. Amaranth and Green were standing nearby, Green with a long bandage down his left arm, black-haired, ending in his typical dragon hide gloves, grey-green today. Velorian was also nearby, talking quietly with the blonde vampire that was his guardian. On the ground were eight mix-breed dogs of various sizes, colours, and shapes, ranged around the feet of two men he didn't know. Amaranth was, of course, petting one thoughtfully.

"Right. We all know where we're going?"

The man holding the dogs' leashes pointed to the second whose hands were free, and he quickly relayed the plan. Within half-an-hour, they had all their stuff and the dogs were set to find. Geoffrey frowned thoughtfully as they trudged after them.

"You'd think they'd avoid it." Geoffrey offered.

"The two white ones are deaf." The handler explained. "So when it cries they don't run off. They follow the other dogs that hear the commands, and don't run when it screams. The other dogs thus, likewise, halt their break. Won't go near it, but they make a fierce racket. Distracts it, particularly the white colour in the trees. Tends to actually work that way." The man hefted a large crossbow. "Makes hog hunting look pretty damn easy, really."

Geoffrey raised his eyebrow but didn't comment handling his wand carefully and minding the heavy rifle he had on his shoulder.

It took three hours to track it down. When they did locate its nest of fallen trees, it wasn't present, so traps were set: nets, snares, several spring-loaded javelins. The last was Green's idea, and naturally included poison.

Surprisingly, the javelins worked the best of the set up. The poison was useless. Affixing long wooden spikes to the sinuous body was very effective, and one enterprising dog jumped up and grabbed hold, dragging it down.

Geoffrey took back his earlier scepticism about the cry of the jabberwocky. He collapsed to his knees, screaming for it to stop and abruptly went deaf. He panicked until one of the guides slapped him, glared, and pointed to the rifle, and then to the banshee.

Oh, whoops. He'd forgotten to deafen himself.

Fortunately for his pride, he wasn't the only one of his friends to make that mistake: Alma and Amaranth were treated to similar actions, while Green was fiddling with his crossbow bolt and trying to do something to it with one of his phials, muttering angrily. Geoffrey ran behind the guide and opened fire on the Jabberwock with his rifle. The bullets went clean through, but did apparently nothing but enrage it.

Boy, could a Jabberwock rage.

The javelins were broken, the dog holding on long ago fled, and the creature coiled and thrashed like a boa times fifty– it was a long serpentine creature, yellow, blue and green colouring the pebbly skin beneath a dull brown mane on it's spine. It's eyes were burning yellow and red, small black spines on it's blue crown and … well, the best description he could find would be _mandibles_ alongside the brilliantly coloured tongue and acid green drool. At its shoulder, it was at least a foot higher than Amaranth, and down its length, it was at least twenty metres or something, hind legs preceding ten feet in tail with a plume of brown fur.

As pretty as the colours were, the results of its thrashings were _not. _Trees cracked, bending double, while a few uprooted or snapped altogether. Geoffrey could _feel_ the roar in sharp vibrations through his gun and with the mad motions he couldn't fire for fear of hitting something other than his target.

That's when it threw its head his direction. Friends or not, he fired until he couldn't, and then forget the next several seconds. When he could think again, he had a massive headache, a twinge of pain in his chest, tacky with blood. The tree three feet away was cracked and gouged; however, his blood was on the tree behind him. On the other side of the tree, one of the guides was curled around a broken arm. The vibrations in his gun continued in case the Jabberwock's continued tantrum hadn't been sign enough. He felt mildly ill, but either way …

Green aimed his crossbow and missed. Spectacularly. Geoffrey could imagine his cursing, but his action and inattention cost him. The Jabberwock snapped forward – it was exceptionally similar to a snake – and snagged his leg as Green demonstrated his startlingly effective reflexes: it had been aiming for his chest. The miss didn't hinder the Jabberwock much as it jerked him airborne, mandibles snapping forward and poisoning him, before it shook him like a terrier. Two bolts from Alma hit their target, lodging in its neck. Outraged, Green was dropped, and then kicked aside as it lunged after the dog handler and Alma.

Geoffrey had already reloaded, and leaned against the nearest tree, aiming for the spine. This was getting tiresome. The long coils were making a mess, shaking the ground and terrorizing the trees. He took the effort to pick a lower part of the back that was between two trees and not moving much, allowing a better target before shooting for the spine.

The third burst struck gold, and the lower back went abruptly limp. It lunged and snagged a dog, throwing it into the clearing beyond when it was repeatedly shot. Fenris moved too close too soon – it lashed out at him with its front leg and claws the size of swords raked down his chest as it roared in challenge once more.

Velorian, the arrogant shit, circled around behind, finally within sight after probably doing the smart thing and sniping at it from the beginning, jumped onto it's back and tried to move up. The monster mantled it's back and knocked him down, slashing at him in turn. Koreol dropped and caught it in place; Alma didn't need further invite to take a shot at the same time Geoffrey did. Alma took it's neck, Geoffrey's bullets found it's brain.

As he finally relaxed, Geoffrey watched it slowly slump to the ground, apparently not quite agreeing with the 'dead' assignation. Once it was not moving, he fished out his wand and cancelled his deafness, before he walked to poke the Guide who'd driven him in. Geoffrey matched him scowl for scowl.

"This hunt was a fucking mess. How are we getting out with half of us injured and Green dying of poison?"

The man hissed, sitting up tenderly with his arm cradled against his body. "That's what the emergency radio is for. They _are_ expecting us. The poison won't kill him. He'll just be delirious until it wears off. It's only hallucinogenic."

"Okay, so he won't be any different than normal. He still got tossed around like a rag doll. Make that call already."

The man muttered something likely unflattering, but Geoffrey's head hurt, his back hurt, his favourite brother was bleeding and his best friend's brother was tripping on drugs with who knows how many broken bones.

He was never accepting an assignment like this again without some bigger guns.

IIII

**_Spring, 1990_**

Green wasn't clueless. He knew insanity when he smelled it. He lived with it, every day. His brothers were similarly excellent examples. Amaranth mixed magic and technology indiscriminately and often had dust in his hair from researching old spells, rituals, and potions (which he threw to Green, to his pleasure). When he wasn't covered in dust, he was playing with some animal or another. His actions were endorsed by Salem, which said something about the school too.

Louis was just insane, playing with the magical aspects and applications of death. Green didn't _want_ to know more. He also didn't want to know why or how someone had known to recruit his brother when he was fifteen.

His own recruitment for an apprenticeship had been an easy and obvious choice. He'd managed his first potions explosion six months into his first year. His mother hadn't let any of them _near_ magic before then. Her caution was probably the legacy of their father and his assurances the little ritual was harmless … until she had the most dissimilar fraternal triplets genetically possible. Their father had left after that evening, checked in shortly after the birth, and been cursed out of the room after ten minutes, from what she and the nurses all said.

Well, he certainly didn't cross his mother. No man who valued his balls would be stupid enough to. But once they were in school, she just abdicated responsibility and probably sent a letter to the hospital wing to expect catastrophe.

If she had, it was a smart choice. Just because the potion had cooled to a concentrated topical healing potion didn't make it burn any less when it boiled over and splashed across the room.

Nobody had any scars from it, at least.

Either way, acquiring his apprenticeship hadn't lessened his obsessive interest any. He'd popped in and out of the hospital wing nearly every day for three months until Louis sent him eight pairs of dragon hide gloves and an apron to match. It'd lessened the trips to once a week for his apprenticeship, once a month after he was made Journeyman.

He liked to think he was doing better now that he was a Potions Master. Really. He only had a few permanent scars. The Healers were doing really well at healing them completely or inconspicuously. The burn treatments were going faster when he did something really strange. However, this didn't make the side effects pass much quicker. His hair had been black to bald to white to glow-in-the-dark and neon plus any variant or mixture. His skin had been the same. Several things had ended up grown or shrunk; he'd even acquired horns once.

He could only imagine what today's problem was.

"Dammit, Amaranth, how did that potion manage to go _through_ this damn apron? I thought this was impenetrable!"

The potion had boiled over and he'd jumped, splashing some. Nothing hurt yet; it was just warm. The potion apparently didn't boil very high; was it possibly the light gas he'd added, or maybe just a soothing effect of that mixture of herbs … Although that might be bad if his skin was just numb to the burns. He looped the top down to check; he'd already vanished his shirt once it was saturated – skin still pink, just a little flushed, but no blisters or anything too too red.

Someone snorted. Green glanced up and found everyone staring at him; Geoffrey looked a little stunned or worried – he wasn't sure which, but he frowned irritably at him and put his hands on his hips, rocking back on his heels. Freyr, the second oldest Alfaerus, made a small choking sound and stood up quickly, leaving with muffled snickers. Amaranth made a disgusted sound.

"Green, really. Take a better look at yourself _without_ thinking about potion burns."

You'd think the man thought he was stupid. Just because he was the oldest of the triplets gave him no right. Green glanced down – and shrieked. It sounded far too girly for his liking.

Well, the guys were staring with reason. He had a rack: large female breasts. He'd almost have preferred horns. Getting himself under control he tentatively poked one. They felt surprisingly squishy and wobbled. It was very strange to feel that wobble hanging off his chest. He blinked several times, and heard Geoffrey snort again. Green glared at him and flipped him off.

"Go fuck your wife, Geoffrey, and stop staring. They're just breasts. You're freaking married."

With a sudden feeling of horror, Green made no attempt to be graceful as he grabbed for his manhood.

Oh, _shit._

As only an academic could, Green swore and declared, "What the Hell was _that_ mistake to make it so goddamn thorough?" He began to go over the ingredients as he gave the new additions a look of pique. He really wasn't sure, maybe the lovage? Tomatoes? Had he even added those yet?

Someone walked in and swore. "Godammit Green, get a shirt on."

Green looked up and frowned. Great. "Louis, get your ass out of its knot."

"Green, you have a set of C-cup breasts. I'd rather not have them glaring at me."

Green scowled. "And like your shirt isn't thin enough to show off your chest. Don't preach-" Green bit down on his tongue and turned red. _I did not just say that-I did not just say that-I did not just say that out loud to my brother, Louie, of all people, and I am not staring at his shoulders either –_

Green turned around and pulled up the apron, stalking back into his lab with a red face. Okay, he was fixing this ASAP. He froze and ground out, "Amaranth, do you by chance have a spare shirt on hand for the trip upstairs? And tell the men my lab needs cleaned out. Watch out for emasculation and too much hormone."

"I'll tell them that. Although, if they can argue with Mellisande for a bra that might be fine too." Amaranth teased, and then sounded strained. "At least then I won't be staring at my brother's chest." He obligingly conjured a shirt. When Green pulled it on, he glared down at the stretched fabric and turned a glare on Amaranth. If he asked, Amaranth would just say he'd underestimated and hadn't made it that tight on purpose. Which was bullshit.

Green huffed and sighed. Well, he'd done worse. There was that time with the elephant skin … and the rhino plate … and the horns and tail … and the glow-in-the-dark incident. This might actually be fun if he could talk the nurses into privacy. He grinned as he pulled off the apron – his pants were sorta fine. He'd die before asking for a skirt, but he'd left his wand in his lab and wasn't going back in there and possibly prolonging this … distraction, maybe?

"I wonder how women jack off." He asked. "Any of you gotten that out of your wives or girlfriends?"

There was a long silent pause. Green rolled his eyes, decided his reputation was shot anyways and eyed the shirt. He wouldn't dare it as a guy, but it's not like there was anything dangling … and it would be so much fun to mess with their heads. He hooked his hands in his pants and pulled them quickly down, bending over to get them off his feet. He nearly fell when Louis swore fervently,

"For the love of God, Green!" He continued, "I did not need to see that! Get something better on – here!"

Abruptly he felt Louis' much longer tunic land across his shoulders. He tugged it on, and scowled – he hadn't realized the goddamn thing was so _scratchy._ How could he live with this fabric? Then again, dragon hide took some getting used to, but _this_ – it felt like he was wearing sandpaper.

Of course, anything to take his mind off the fact that everyone had gotten to see the new plumbing he had. Merlin, Mary and Mordred, he hadn't thought the shirt would ride up like that!

And if his hormones kept making him feel so damn warm down there over his brother, he was going to _kill something;_ likely warm, cute, and fuzzy because killing people was frowned upon.

Although if he could repeat this and use it on someone …

Louis rolled his eyes and swore again. "Green, c'mon. I'll keep you from doing something _else_ stupid. Your precious lab will be cleaned since there doesn't seem to be anything _else_ wrong with the potion."

Green huffed and turned around before stopping dead in his tracks.

_That… was… so… damn… wrong…_

_Telesphore Vert Quintelyuv, Eleutherios Red is your BROTHER, an ASSHOLE, and a first class jerk. No matter what drugs you are on, he is NOT attractive, acceptable, tolerable, nor worth half a minute's look. You will stop this nonsense NOW!_

Nope, mental diatribe _not_ working. He was asking some woman many _many_ questions as soon as he could. Including this plumbing problem of feeling very wet right now. Really. Louis' chest is not that attractive. Sure, he's muscled, broad shoulders, long hair …

"Louie, if we're going we're going." Green growled. It didn't sound nearly impressive enough.

"Green …" Louis was ticked – he hated being called 'Louie' – but he also looked mildly disturbed. "Are you _blushing?"_

Green glared hotly at him, wishing he were taller, heavier, _something_, and snarled. "I'm a girl. Everyone just stared at me. I fucked up big time. And everything about me is off kilter, not to mention women's plumbing _sucks._ If you're going to be an escort," His voice didn't quiver! Not a whit! "You'd better get your ass in gear."

If Geoffrey just snorted, he was going to be damaged. Very soon.

Now he just had to walk next to his brother, _remember that! Brother! Incest,_ and survive going upstairs.

And the nurses.

This better be worth the embarrassment.

* * *

A/N: No, you aren't expected to remember who half those people are. These are just hilarious moments - or significant - in and of themselves that have been mentioned in passing in the stories: Alan's arrival (and evidence of just how silly Geoffrey is), why Alan sees thestrals, the Jabberwock incident, and the one remarkable instance of Green turning himself female ... which I think was mentioned fourth year. Either way, I hope you find them as amusing as I do.

For those who are curious and want to keep it straight, the Alfaerus generation with Geoffrey is: Lucille (married to Nicholas Harper), Autumn (Alma Fir), Fenris (Mellisande), Freyr (Eligia), Raleigh (Winter), Geoffrey (Ginger), and Oscar (Maeve). You probably won't see all of them, but several have been (or will be) mentioned. In addition to the Alfaerus are the Quintelyuvs: Amaranth Azul Quintelyuv (hence Blue), Telesphore Vert Quintelyuv (hence Green), and Eleutherios Red Quintelyuv (call him Red and die). Professor Jernigan is a vampire, but is several hundred years younger than Koreol, who is the vampire guardian of Velorian - Andrew Mayfair's father.

Despite the amount of detail I have for these, they will not take over the story, I promise you that. It's just my habit as a writer eating my brain (as I have plans for these to jump into other, original works of mine). I hope you enjoy the snippets I have shared - Please read and review!

Fire & Napalm


	4. Hogwarts

**Spoilers: End of second year, ish. Scene shots, rating: K+**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

_**May 9, 1992 (How Ginny got back the diary)  
**_

Ginny woke up in the Hospital wing. She was tired, achy, and sore. Her head hurt abominably. She felt like she was swimming through cotton. Nobody was in the room.

She was alone.

_Where am I?_

_Hospital Wing._

_What am I doing here?_

_McGonagall stunned me._

_Where's my diary?_

The thought made her blood run cold. McGonagall had taken her diary. She glanced at the curtains around her and could faintly make out voices.

"… Seems to be fine, no obvious problems … it's well hidden. Can't find any sign …"

"Will she be alright?" McGonagall's crisp voice was far easier to understand. The answer was lost in clinking bottles. "Thank you. Will you keep this in your desk? You might need it."

"Easily. I just … top drawer; nobody will … isn't safe."

Ginny's heart was pounding. Her _diary._ Madam Pomfrey had it. That stupid boy! She was going to make him regret ever showing up when she got her hands on his diary. But she had to wait. Getting caught trying once would make everything worse. Fred and George always said that. People will catch on to you.

She bided her time. Pomfrey bustled around, and Ginny pretended to be asleep when she glanced in. The curtains whispered shut, the lights dimmed, and Pomfrey slipped out of a faintly creaky door and moved it shut, but not clicked.

She'd just have to be very quiet. She _had _to get her diary back.

Slipping off the cot, ghosting out of the curtains, sliding the drawer slowly open. She did it quickly, but silently. Her hand closed on the diary and –

The next thing she remembered was waking in a dark antechamber, Harry leaning over Alan's weakly shivering body.

No memory of leaving the hospital wing.

"Ginny, are you awake?"

IIII

_**Spring, 1993**_

"Do you only ever break the rules when you're hanging out with me?"

Harry glanced up at Alan and raised his eyebrow. "Well, I haven't found a reason to. What, are you jacking up a bunch of points in that regard?"

Alan smiled thinly. "If I was, would I tell you?"

Harry laughed softly. "Knowing you? No. So, is that a challenge, teacher?" Harry sneered. Alan fought down an amused smile.

"Yes. Get out of my sight."

"Fine." Harry slammed his books together, fighting his own smile into a look of irritation before storming out of the library, his mind whirling with plots. What to do, what rules to break? Curfew was nothing but a gentle suggestion, spells in the hallway were only against the rules if you were caught or weren't practicing … everything else had a high chance of getting caught…

Harry grinned as he slipped into the common room and found a seat next to Neville. It was a few minutes before Neville looked back over at him, and the other boy frowned.

"What are you smiling at me for?"

"First off, you're staring at Hermione." Harry offered under his breath. "Second, you look very interested. Third, you also look concerned – it's sweet, really!" Harry hastened to reassure him, raising his voice to normal, "And lastly, I'm wondering how willing you are to come exploring with me?"

Ron overheard, and slipped over with a wry smile. "What are we going to explore?" He asked eagerly. "Anything to get out of homework."

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Homework is very important!"

"Just because you're drowning in it doesn't mean I have to!" Ron retorted. "Are you two done your homework already?" Ron asked sullenly.

Harry shrugged; he finished his homework in the library while hanging out with Alan. Neville didn't answer either; Harry suspected he did his while staring, worried, at Hermione. He answered, "I haven't had much else to do. Quidditch practice doesn't task me as much as it does you. You're doing well, really, Ron." They shared a grin; Harry was just a natural, and they both knew it. "What don't you have done?"

"Care of Magical Creatures." Ron moaned. "And Divination."

"Divination shouldn't be hard; it's all just bullshit." Neville pointed out. "Ask Harry about Care. He's the one taking it."

Harry glanced over at the work and grinned. "This is easy. Look here, and here." He pulled out his book, absently getting it to open for him and pointed out the relevant parts. Ron scribbled away quickly and finished within a half-hour. Hermione had finally tired of pushing away Neville's offers of help and had let him give some aid, and finally, after Ron's work was finished, Harry put his book away and found Hermione breathing a sigh of relief, her head on her arms. Harry raised his eyebrow at Neville.

"She's fine. However, I think that diversion you have in mind might help us all air out a bit. What did you have planned?"

Harry eyed Hermione dubiously, and then moved to sit next to them.

"I want to go check out the Forbidden Forest."

Hermione's head came up immediately and she scowled at him. "Harry Potter, that's against the rules!"

"And how closely are you following them right now?" Neville shot back. Hermione shut up.

"Fine. Let's go." She said sullenly. "I need out of this tower."

Harry blinked, and stood up. "Alright. Let me get a few things from upstairs."

He quickly climbed, grabbed his cloak, and, in a fit of amusement, scaled two levels and raided the twins' dorm. They were seated on their bed with Lee, and Harry contemplated his best chances of temporarily acquiring the Marauder's Map. Invisible, he started behind Lee, whispered two spells, and grabbed the black boy's dreadlocks and heaved. Lee yelped and fell backwards off the bed, both twins laughing helplessly under a tickling charm. Harry summoned their wands and dropped the cloak's hood, grinning brilliantly. The twins pointed and tried to speak, Lee cursing the toe resting lightly on his nose.

"I demand you relinquish a forfeit!" Harry announced. "The mystical Map you possess!" He moderated his tone and released Lee. "Just for tonight, eh?" He cancelled the spells.

The twins didn't stop laughing, but George nodded and moved to his trunk. Harry smiled and helped Lee up. "You alright there, Lee?"

"My scalp is sore and so's my bum, but that was pretty funny. Haven't gotten ambushed by a third year before."

"You'll live." Harry answered, patting him on the back. He accepted the tattered parchment from George and winked. "Good luck catching me. I'll have it back by morning." He slipped downstairs before they could retaliate; fully aware he still had their wands. He'd gotten to the common room before they chased after him.

"Oi, Potter, give those back!"

Harry laughed, and pulled the three wands out. "What, these? Why would you need these?"

They stopped in the doorframe and scowled, before lifting their hands helplessly and turning around. Harry frowned; that wasn't right … someone abruptly grabbed the wands out of his hand. "Hey! That's cheating!" He yelped.

Ginny turned and stuck out her tongue, scampering to Fred and George and handing over the three wands. The twins grinned at him; Harry stuck his tongue out in retaliation, and waved his friends along. Ron was grinning ear to ear.

"I am _so_ amazed you did that, Harry!"

Harry just shrugged, running his hand through his hair. Hermione slapped his arm, and Harry turned to stick his tongue out at her, too. She frowned sternly.

"You look ridiculous when you mess your hair up like that."

He'd been about to repeat the motion when he realized it was a habit his dad had and quickly aborted it, giving Hermione a sheepish grin.

"Why are we going out there anyways?" She asked.

"Adventure." Harry answered.

Neville put in, "Unwinding."

"It's fun!" Ron grinned.

Hermione gave in. Apparently she was smart enough to realize there was no arguing with young boys intent on a game

* * *

A/N: Here is more oneshot. The mentioned Forest Trip that probably isn't nearly so interesting as it could be, but I got bored - at least you know _why_ they did it. And then Ginny's reacquisition of the diary that just didn't fit into the POV I wrote with in the actual story. Hope you don't mind.

For those of you who actually read and review these, do you want Neville's oneshot or no? It will be rated 'M' - the main reason I gave this collection an 'M' rating was because that was already done - but it does help explain Neville's attitude, certainly, and how he reacted to it. In case you're curious, feel free to leave a comment on the matter.

Fire & Napalm


	5. Hogwarts' Teachers

**Spoilers: End of first year and second year - a something a few people didn't catch until fourth. Vignettes, Rating: K+**

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Staff 

_**Sept 1, 1991**_

Severus glanced up from his desk as his door closed quietly behind the small, black-haired boy. It was impossible, though the child was as small, and as quiet as he'd been. That nose … he'd seen it many times in the mirror, but it just couldn't be.

"Sit down. You said you had a letter for me?"

Prince sat down and nodded, pulling the letter out of his pocket and handing it over. He was staring with dark eyes, his gaze level but curious. "Here, sir."

He sat back after Severus had taken it and watched him. Severus had to make himself ignore the child to flip open the letter. The hand it was written in was female and brisk. He disliked it immediately.

_To Severus Snape,_

_You don't know me, but you knew my sister, Amber Callough. I am Ginger Alfaerus nee Callough, married into the Alfaerus family in America. The child, Alan Prince, is your son._

At about that moment, Severus didn't really want to read more. This was going to be hideous. He scanned the rest of the letter irritably: it was mostly just a summary of how the boy had been raised, and why – his godfather was never named, only referenced, which irked him – and then he hit the last paragraphs. The letter fell from limp fingers.

_I'm sorry to tell you this, as it probably won't go over well, but Alan's godfather reported that Amber had been told of a prophecy, or part of one, that told of a boy prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord. Amber was quite positive Alan is that boy – one 'born to parents who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies'. As Alan was born in the earliest morning of August first, she was confident he was at least possibly the boy. His godfather, and I agree that the Dark Lord's attempt to kill him makes it more than possible he is the boy._

_We also suspect_ _that this will herald danger to Alan, hence the training we allowed him to seek out and gain. He is exceptionally curious, eager to learn, and magically powerful – exceptional, really. His godfather also cautions that this may put you in danger as well. _

_Please, take care of Alan while he is there. It is your choice as to how involved in his life you wish to be – we will gladly bring him back to Salem every summer if you do not wish to invite him to stay with you, but at least answer his questions. He is very curious about his real father._

_Yours truly,_

_Ginger Alfaerus_

After several minutes, Prince broke into his reverie with a soft-voiced, "Mr. Snape?" Severus scowled down at him. Prince flinched minutely, but stubbornly continued, "Did you read the letter?"

Hadn't that been rather obvious? "Yes, I did."

"So …" He ventured, "are you really my father?"

"It seems overwhelmingly likely." Severus bit out.

The boy's face fell some, but he picked up his shoulders and continued, "You're a full Potions Master, right?" Severus nodded, wondering why he asked. "Green can't seem to finish the Polyjuice Potion without trying to change something; could I work on it with you? I haven't managed to get it right yet."

Severus blinked, and revised his opinion. Maybe, just maybe, he might like the boy. "When I have the time, I would be glad to work on it with you." He doubted his ability to be a father to the child, but teaching, particularly to someone eager to learn, he could certainly do.

Maybe he'd figure out the rest, once he could sort out why there was a small knot - tiny, really - of warmth under his chest as Alan, his son, beamed at him.

IIII

**_June 5, 1992_**

Dumbledore walked slowly back to his office, his thoughts spinning through his head. This was not the end he had expected for this year. Severus' accusations, Severus' _son,_ and the boy himself had given him much to think about. Slipping back behind his desk and relaxing in his chair he sighed and popped a sherbet lemon in his mouth before leaning back to think things through.

He was still unsure of the boy. Alan Prince was a clever child, forthright, confident and yet intelligently cautious. Dumbledore needed to know more about the Alfaerus who raised him to find out how they'd instilled such independence and sense into a child, but that would be later. As it stood, the boy knew Occlumency, and was already powerful enough to back it up. He would have been able to break through, _if _he had been willing to drive the boy away from him and shatter any chance at gaining his trust. If the boy was the child of prophecy, he could not do that, no matter how worried he was. Alan Prince was already so similar to a young Tom Riddle, Dumbledore had to plan for the chance of him turning dark. The prophecy had said nothing of what kind of child would fulfill it. He could not allow Alan to go Dark, even as he already feared the start of it from his friends and his cavalier attitude to the report of Quirrel's death.

Dumbledore pulled his mind from contemplating the child for a moment to consider whom he had followed. Harry and Neville had been in his eye ever since the war was declared ended. He had not imagined a third child might meet the criteria, much less that Voldemort would know of it. Years had passed, and neither Harry nor Neville had seemed marked, but they were both supremely promising children, powerful, intelligent and kind.

But it seemed they had been passed over for Alan Prince. Dumbledore supposed the signs he'd seen in Alan that reminded him of Tom Riddle reminded Tom of himself. Now that he was a young man, entering Slytherin house much as Tom had, Alan was only drawing closer to the image of the Dark Lord.

Alan was charismatic, as much as a child could be. Severus had reported several altercations with other students where Alan picked fights, mostly over the Slytherin image. Dumbledore had been hopeful when he'd heard that Alan was rejecting their ideals again and again, but then Blaise Zabini had drawn to him, becoming his best friend. Blaise had not been someone Dumbledore had hoped to find such a powerful student friends with, neither had he hoped for Daphne Greengrass. Even two second years were in his circle already. Salvador Hopkins' father had been killed in the last war as a Death Eater; Lucille Pupp's mother was staunchly dark, and ruled her quieter, neutral husband. As it stood, Dumbledore could only hope they were befriending him for his individuality, rather than drawing _him_ into _their_ circle. The constant fights with Draco kept his hopes alive, but he'd have to wait and see.

Dumbledore feared it would be a long and anxious wait. Severus would resent any interference, and Dumbledore doubted the Alfaerus would appreciate it any better. They were known to be very open and rather hands-off. Clearly they had not seen fit to mould Alan after any manner, although they had at least raised him polite. When asked, Severus had reported Alan was well versed in practical matters of safety, knowing several shields, producing the most curious enchanted pendant, and with excellent reflexes when faced with disaster. But none of that eased his mind. To him, it meant the boy was exceptionally self-sufficient already, and that he would flee faster than anything if he attempted to hold onto him. Somehow, he had to draw Prince to him, find some foothold of influence.

Unfortunately, he hadn't the faintest idea how to even begin to manage that when the boy clearly already disliked him.

IIII

**_May 20, 1993_**

Harry determined that he hated Lockhart as he sat in his class and stared at the arrogant and vile man. It was barely a week after Alan had gotten out of the Hospital wing, and Lockhart was claiming to have known it was a basilisk all along. Neville had caught his narrowed eyes watching the man stalk across the front of the room, and had tried to distract him, but he wasn't forgetting. He was still wondering how badly he could make the man regret ever stepping inside the school.

Homework was still as bad as ever; they hadn't been able to wake the petrified students yet, but either way school had to continue. It was a relief to know no one else was at risk, but Harry missed Ron and Hermione often. Neville also was prone to fits of melancholy. Usually when he felt that way, Harry would disappear from whatever table they were at and seek out Alan. Neville never followed, too caught up in his own worries.

It was while Harry and Alan were just sitting and talking, that Alan broached the subject that led to his idea.

"Harry, I don't think it would be a good idea if we were really friends."

Harry frowned and looked up at Alan. He looked regretful, but was clearly thinking hard. Harry considered it himself. He _liked_ being friends with Alan. Alan challenged him … Harry seized the idea,

"What if we faked it?" Harry pointed out. "Faked a rivalry, like you and Draco."

Alan frowned. "You'd have to keep up the act. Lie." A smile slowly grew on his face. "It'd be good practice."

Harry's smiled widened into a grin. "I can practice getting you with curses in the halls."

"But what would we fight over?" Alan frowned.

"We're a Gryffindor and a Slytherin." Harry pointed out. "We don't need any more reason than that."

Alan broke into laughter. "And if someone's really bugging us, we can pick a fight nearby."

Harry's eyes widened. "Alan, that's brilliant! When can we hit Lockhart?"

Alan blinked several times before smiling his Slytherin smile. "How about tomorrow?"

"You'd better find some way to start it." Harry pointed out. "Neville's clever that way. He thinks we're already friends this year."

Alan grinned. "I'll think of something."

'Something' became reality as they left dinner the next evening. Harry had been fidgety all day, and had diverted Neville's attention with several random questions to keep him off his case. As they walked out, and as Lockhart moved to try and talk to Alan – he'd attempted to do so several times, and been rudely brushed off every time – Alan turned around and frowned at Harry.

"Hey, Potter!"

Harry looked up at him and blinked curiously. Neville knew he had thought they were friends, so …

"Don't get me mixed up defending your _girlfriend_ next time. I'm not putting my life on the line for you again!"

"Hey!" Harry shouted back. "That's unfair! You butted in both times, you fool! It's your own damn fault!"

Alan jerked his chin up. "Liar, you're just trying to make yourself look good, you stupid Gryffindor!"

Harry threw the first curse, a stunner. He missed spectacularly, but dodged Alan's return spell, disarming. Harry retaliated in kind and almost hit Lockhart, who was looking gleeful as he stupidly enabled their plan to work – by stepping right in the middle of the spell fight.

Needless to say, Lockhart felt very embarrassed by being trounced by two second years who just couldn't manage to aim quite right when insisting on continuing their fight with him in the middle. He was multi-coloured and unable to stand when McGonagall broke the fight up – several students had seen the chaos and Harry knew Neville at least had taken a chance to hex Lockhart himself.

Harry bemoaned the detention later in the week, but Alan told him to just get used to it. Harry nodded ruefully. He'd set himself up for it – and probably many more.

It was worth it to hear that Lockhart was leaving at the end of the year. Claimed the students were a little too enthusiastic about his fame. Since he hadn't been popular since the Valentine's mess, and it hadn't been much before, it was a weak lie, but any means to an end. Harry felt it fitting. After all, he should have been Slytherin anyways.

IIII

_**Jun 10, 1994**_

Remus Lupin sat comfortably in the thestrals drawn carriage and leaned his head back, smiling softly. It had been a good year while it lasted. Unfortunately, despite Snape's best reassurances that their rivalry had been forgotten, Lucius had somehow found out anyways and written to the governors who had complained. He was out of a job again, but at least he had enjoyed himself. The students had been spectacular, eager to learn.

Some in particular had been prodigies. He was not entirely surprised. Harry and Neville had always been ahead of themselves, badgering their parents for tips and advice and spells and learning them with a will. Neville had been as in love with books as Remus himself since he was six and his uncles had started frowning at his late blooming magic. When it had finally shown itself at eight, the boy had already known more about magic than Harry, who had been making sparks since he was two years old. Neville had rapidly proved his strength and become as prodigious as Harry at causing trouble – and several times better at having accidents. He'd always been just as good at picking himself up, though.

Harry, though … Harry was clever and intense. Remus had felt devastated when he had run across Harry's boggart, but he hid the fear so well he'd almost forget about it if it hadn't been so extraordinary – and so potentially true. Remus had hexed James when he found out how irate he'd been when Harry's parseltongue had come to light. Either way, Lupin found it delightful to teach him, even when he'd had the boy in detention for picking fights with Alan Prince. He'd have been disappointed at the rivalry if Harry hadn't been so pleased with himself about it. Living with the Marauders made him suspect a trick of some kind, but he hadn't managed to discover it all year.

Thinking of the fights made Remus smile delightedly. Alan Prince was as exceptional as Harry and Neville, as delightful as Neville's friend – and, he suspected, crush – Hermione Granger. Hermione, herself, was brilliant, a complement to the two boys' sometimes overeager confidence, and Harry and Ron's recklessness. Ron grounded them in reality, being the average student, but still a valued friend Harry had known from childhood.

Now, while Hermione was the classic muggleborn: eager to learn, bookish, and driven (a dead ringer for Lily herself), Alan Prince was the classic pureblood Slytherin who, of all things, reminded him of Sirius. Self-assured and charismatic, Remus could understand why Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass were so close to him, and why Draco Malfoy hated him. Alan was everything Draco wanted to be: the Slytherin Prince. Remus had noticed that Alan's style of casual clothing had changed over Christmas to a more polished look, and, in a few exchanged glares and fussing, he suspected – but, sadly, couldn't prove – it was Blaise's doing. Remus could commiserate with his choice: a few years ago, Sirius had forced new clothes on Remus. Not that he would mention to Sirius his Slytherin leanings, of course. Except, perhaps, to Lily...

A sad smile crossed his face. No, he wouldn't mention the Slytherins to Sirius or James at all. Lily, he could share his amusement with Lily though. She'd be delighted to hear how well Snape's son was doing, along with a number of the other children, like Daphne's wandering eyes and slight fear of creatures or how Ron managed quite well against the boggart. He couldn't mention Harry's effective avoidance of that lesson which he'd done quite well; he doubted too many people had noticed he'd avoided it deliberately rather than accidentally. But he could mention Hermione, or Melanie, who was doing nearly as well as her older brother, and Ginny who was already hitting her assignments with more fervour than Ron ever had.

Remus sighed as the carriage rolled into the village. No, there were certain things his friends were not up to hearing about their children. But a year of examples had a lot of things he could share, and, ultimately, it just had to be remembered that they were growing up – much like they themselves had in their own school years. He looked forward to where they would take themselves as the years rolled on. It promised to be interesting.

* * *

A/N: Well, still no comment about Neville so I'll hold that off until I run out of oneshots - which, unless I get Alan's group finished, will probably wait for that unless I get asked for it.

Here's another summary of third year, the explanation I forgot to put in regarding Lockhart's leaving, poor Dumbledore's worry, and the meeting of Severus and his son. I hope you enjoy this, and please read and review.

Fire & Napalm


	6. Neville

**Spoilers: Chapter**** 37 -Short story, Rating: -M- **If you wish to skip at some point, orient by the stars, which mark out the rawest part. There is much reaction beyond.

_**Jan 10, 1996**_

Three days before term restarted, Neville was grateful his parents had decided to leave him and his siblings at home for the meeting of the Order during their week off. They'd be returning that evening, and had left that morning, so it wasn't as though they would be unattended for too long. Neville took advantage of the time to drift around their property on his broom. While he wasn't anywhere near skilled at flying, he wasn't uncomfortable with it, or terrible. So long as he didn't try to accomplish anything complicated, he did just fine.

The Longbottom property was fairly large, encompassed with exceptional wards, and charmed safe from muggles and dark wizards. Along the Western edge was a deep forest, thick and tall. It was mixed evergreen and deciduous, so the juxtaposition of bare branches and thick greenery left it colourful and impenetrable from above even in the midst of winter.

Neville enjoyed flying overtop of it, and also enjoyed the reckless choice of flying across the wards. The tingling on his skin was delightful, and he felt no fear. There were no Death Eaters after his family quite yet. The Dark Lord was still gathering power, and keeping his people close. Those that had escaped recently wouldn't be healed, and would be too busy dogging their master's footsteps to act out on their own.

Neville circled a tall conifer that marked the corner Western-Southern boundary, and then slipped outside the wards to speed up the edge at a slight angle, which would take him back into the wards just before the Northern corner.

He was halfway to his goal when a red spell came from below and knocked his broom off course.

Careening into the branches, Neville screamed, fumbling to both reach his wand and stop his fall. His head struck a branch; stars burst behind his eyelids and he fell onto a springy, thick evergreen branch that held him for several moments before it dipped and dropped him onto the next layer. Disoriented, Neville couldn't grasp the branches before they dropped him, and he slowly, blessedly, slipped down through the canopy with minimal injury before he was dropped to the loam below, jarring his legs and landing and rolling onto his side. His head was pounding with pain, and Neville moaned and struggled to his hands and knees before red light flashed and he dissolved into screaming agony.

The agony faded at some indeterminate point into darkness, and the darkness slipped from an unforgiving hardness into a soft, cotton-like feeling that no longer felt endless, but rather more yielding. Outside of the darkness, his body felt warm and pleasantly relaxed. Sensation seemed unimaginably magnified and almost joyous. He tilted his head back as he yielded to it, and only distantly registered being divested of his clothes. He wanted to open his eyes, but something told him not to, not yet, and he listened patiently as the voice suggested that there were better things to come. An unformed worry nagged at the back of his mind. It was as easily ignored as the pain he knew was there, but felt no need to be concerned about, and so both were forgotten to worry about – later.

The hands that were stripping him were far more interesting anyways.

***

The cold that should've nipped at his bones was held back by something he tentatively attributed to a warming charm, and he was lying comfortably on his cloak, clothes – all of them – bundled somewhere else. It didn't bother him, and the worry it brought was marginalized once more. His eyes remained complacently shut, and then he moaned as delightfully cold hands stroked his chest, one coming up to cradle his face and turn his head aside. Something was wet on the back of his neck, and he was suddenly aware of another warm body pressing against his own, a body that was definitely female.

It took nothing else to get him to react; hormones that were unavoidable giving rise to the expected, and anticipated reaction. One hand reached down to attend to that, and Neville moaned wantonly. A soft tongue licked at the dampness at the back of his neck, holding his head aside as he shifted in pleasure, his head tilting back, and then pressing against the touch to encourage the stimulation. When it stopped, he moaned again, and the lapping tongue left, tilting his head back up and then pressing their – her – lips against his mouth, tongue slipping against his lips. Neville didn't fight, and opened his own mouth, inviting the probing tongue in. A faint taste seemed off, a flavour he was passingly familiar with but that didn't register, didn't want to register, and he ignored it, clumsily offering to kiss back, but not wanting to move much, satisfied to let her have her way.

It disturbed him again, a wave of worry that tried to wash it all away, but it was pushed aside, hormones and the pleasant oblivion winning out.

The kiss ended, the woman pulling back and panting against his face as he lay, waiting for what he knew should, would come. He fidgeted again, cold biting at the edges of the warmth, and then he felt something warm and open on the edge of his erection, that slowly slid down to encompass it all. The sensation sent his head back, panting breaths coming faster than before as he enjoyed the consuming warmth that was slowly spreading through his body. He couldn't think past it. She shifted, and he moaned, throwing his head from side to side, gasping as she tightened her muscles around him, squeezing, and making everything seem to tilt on a knife-edge. Letting go, she left his muscles twitching and him breathing harshly, despairing at the lost sensation.

She ran her hands up his chest again; his hands fisted, grabbing at his cloak and the ground beneath, feeling the leaves crumple and crack, dead as winter. The worry tried to wash over him again, feeling like the first vestiges of panic, but then she bit his nipple, lifting off him, letting cold touch what had been so warm, and then she pulled back down, plucking at his nipple and letting hormones alone drive away his sense, leaving him panting, unthinking, feeling only touch and lust.

She shifted again, side to side, minutely up and down, tightening muscles and grinding against his crotch. Neville felt each as a maddening swirl of pleasure. Her hands moved from his sides, chest, arms, and nipples. One finger slid across his lips, and then his teeth. He stayed still, waiting, hoping, and then she slid it inside, teasing his tongue and kissing the edge of his mouth. She pulled the finger back out, and then turned to attend a stinging cut on his shoulder, licking and probing. What should have been pain was felt as more of the maddening stimulation. The licking moved down his arm; she raised his hand, and then sucked upon each finger. On his palm, a deep scrape brought a gasp of pain to his lips. A quick squeeze of her muscles strangled the sound with pleasure; he teetered on the knife-edge again, and then fell back with a whimper, squirming beneath her. His eyes darted behind his lids, and he panted weakly, pleading whimpers passing his lips.

The licking recommenced on his other arm, seeking out each scrape and cut, and attending each with tender care. There was another cut upon this hand as well, one that brought weak, pleading whimpers. He was so close … so damn close … everything was just so warm … the woman finally leaned forward, pressing her skin, her breasts to his body in an almost complete line, from groin to collarbone and then she licked his face once more, around his chin, mouth, and eyes. Her hands slipped behind his head, slipping on blood – a thought that didn't even bother him he was so desperate – and then finally finishing with a lick across his forehead down to his ear. She bit down, hard, deep, drawing blood and then convulsed in her own pleasure. The spasms around his erection brought Neville with a harsh gasp, subsiding into laboured breaths and moans as he shuddered with pleasure.

The woman licked the bite gently, casting a quick, small spell that healed it instantly.

***

Neville breathed slowly through the orgasm, eyes shut for a long moment before they slammed open, the panic crashing through him and bringing a harsh, strangled cry. His eyes locked upon the woman's face, and his throat froze, his head pounding with the damage and the horror that locked his muscles without mercy. Her dark eyes were lined heavily, deep set with heavy lids, and thick, lank hair that curtained her face as she leaned down to place a short kiss on his lips. Neville tried to fight away, but she pulled back and slapped him.

"Silence, boy. Respect your elders. I just gave you a _wonderful _time; I deserve a goodbye kiss. Hold still." She grabbed his chin in tight, thin fingers and pressed against his mouth again. Scared, horrified, and shamed, Neville didn't fight her again, squirming but not turning away. Holding his lips shut tight was foiled as she grabbed his nipple and pressed against his groin again, still seated without having separated them. Neville cried out, and then was silenced as she slipped her tongue into his mouth. Neville closed his eyes tight, and even that didn't stop tears of shame from slipping from his eyes as he body still twinged in pleasure at the contact.

Bellatrix – he knew, _knew_ it was Bellatrix Lestrange – pulled back and laughed in his face. "Crying with shame? You should be happy; that was _great_ sex."

Neville turned his head aside, his mouth shut tight to stop his need to wail and vomit, and she pressed her hand into the side of his head and licked at the back of his neck again. She was lapping up his blood, from his head wound.

He'd tasted his own blood when she first kissed him, and done nothing.

Why? _Why_ hadn't he fought back? So quiescent, so malleable … the small voice he remembered telling him to not fight came back, and he choked back a scream of anger, fear, shame, embarrassment. He was fucking _useless_! She'd used him so badly, he wanted to be sick but couldn't move with her sitting on him, didn't want to give her more reason to hurt him, to curse him again, worse than she already had. A chill ran through his body as he thought of the third Unforgivable. To be found dead, like _this _… laid out naked on the ground, having apparently just _laid there_ for sex before somebody just offed him … Nausea wracked his body, and Bellatrix raised her head to nip his ear and then whisper poison in his ear.

"Is the widdle boy scared? Or does the widdle boy want more?" The word was paired with her wiggling her hips against his again, and once more his shameful body responded. "I think the widdle boy wants more, then." She whispered wickedly. "So shameful. Does the widdle boy even know who his partner is?"

Neville screamed in disgust, and finally raised his arms, forcing her off him. She was ridiculously light, underweight, and malnourished. She fell with a gasp, and Neville found his wand on top of the neat pile of his clothes. He grabbed it and turned it against her, his eyes snapping with anger, arms trembling with fear and cold and the need to make her _pay._ Bellatrix stared at him, startled, and then she laughed. A spell of her own had her dressed, looking proper but simply ill, not as though she'd just raped someone – _tortured him_ - and she eyed him languidly as he knelt on his spread cloak, trembling, and then swaying as vertigo swept him, a headache pounding in his temples. She laughed, and stalked over, snatching his wand from his hand and then dangling it above his head.

"Oops, did the little baby lose his head?"

Neville straightened and looked up, finding his wand trailing above him in her hands. Helplessness swept him.

"_Give me back my wand!"_ Neville screamed.

Bellatrix laughed, snapped it abruptly and then threw the pieces at him before she apparated away. Neville screamed in rage, a rage that dissolved into shame and helplessness, a despairing wail that left him curled up around his knees and rocking as he gasped between screams, great gulping gasps. Despair that felt like an open hole in his chest gripped him past any reason.

He didn't know how much longer he wasted in his emotion, but he finally, finally gathered his clothes and dressed himself once more, a nipping tingle affecting his fingers and toes as Bellatrix's warming charm had long since worn off. He dropped things as he dressed, shook as he tried to do up ties and buttons and felt like he couldn't breath. He was too cold, he insisted. Too damn cold to do it right. It'd go away in the warmth of his home, stop once he got back. He could think then. He wouldn't be so helpless.

He left his cloak behind. He'd be warm enough soon; he didn't need it.

It was only a short walk to find his broom, lying at the base of a tree several dozen yards beyond where he'd landed. It was nicked, scratched, mildly charred where the spell had hit, but otherwise fine. The spells still worked. Neville mounted and took a direct route back home, landing on his balcony and going into his room. He dropped the broom on the floor, and went immediately to his bathroom. He wanted to wash everything off, scrub away the damn bitch's touch. Thinking about it brought back a memory, the sensory fixation he'd suffered. He could almost feel her fondling him again, hands slowly warming against his skin, fingers touching his cheek so lightly as her tongue moved down the back of his neck, lapping at his blood …

Neville screamed as he threw down his shirt, tripping and knocking his shampoo from the sink. He landed on his backside, a jarring pain that chased the ghosts away but couldn't eliminate the shameful mark the pleasure had brought back. Screaming exorcised the demons, and he screamed as he threw the shampoo out the still open door, flying across the room to land and skid into the wall, thumping against his bookshelf. Logic reasserted that getting shampoo on his books would only make him feel worse, and he had no wand to clean the mess up. Neville quieted, pulling his knees to his chest as he curled up and sobbed quietly, gasping in the wracking emotional wreckage that remained of his mind. Soft crying that subsided into hiccups and choking pain.

Finally, Neville rubbed his eyes clear and stood to pad over to his shampoo and pick it up once more before returning to the bathroom and locking himself inside. He stripped quickly and turned the water to scalding. He stepped in and hissed in pain at the too-hot water, but he didn't turn it down, letting his cold skin heat quickly and tingle as he subjecting himself to it. It made his head spin to the point of nausea when it touched the wound at the back of his head.

It was that which got him to turn it down, the real pain; the true, worrisome pain of something that needed to be healed. He had no wand, and he didn't know anything about head wounds. Neville quickly looked it over, palpating it tentatively and frowning as he felt light-headed and even more nauseous. He left it alone, and turned to the soap, scrubbing everywhere else until he finally felt clean. It took a long time. The shower let him pretend the tears weren't his. He finally gave up; he didn't think he'd feel clean again, but knew better than to keep trying. His skin felt red and raw; his mind, shattered. But he got out and dried himself, ignoring the blood that stained the towel from his hands and arms. He could feel a small amount dripping from his head, and pulled out a small, dark blue towel to press against it until his parents came home and could help him.

The thought made him tremble. He didn't want to tell them what had happened. He didn't want to tell them what was wrong. He knew he should; logic insisted upon it. But how? How could he tell his parents he was so weak, so damaged …

A loud banging came from his door, and Melanie shouted, "_Neville_, where the Hell were you for the past three hours? I've been looking everywhere you ninny-hammer! You better damn well be in there, or I'm gonna-"

The yelling made his head pound.

"_Melanie, shut the fucking Hell up and get the Hell away from me!"_ Neville screamed. He didn't want to hear anybody but his damn parents! He didn't need telling off; he'd already screwed himself over; Hell, he'd just _been_ screwed, for Merlin's sake, and she was not going to yell at him!

Melanie was silent for a long moment, and then his door clicked and swung open. Neville felt rage building and put down the towel to glare at the door.

"Melanie, what the Hell do you think you're doing coming into my room when the door is _fucking shut_?" He growled. The tone was dangerous and low.

Melanie stopped in the doorway. She looked hurt for a moment, and then pouted. "You were missing for four hours. Mum and dad checked in and were worried when I said you weren't to be found. I thought I should check on you. I heard the shower come on nearly an hour ago." Her tone was sulking, but reasonable. Pain and shame made Neville anything but. He glared at her.

"I don't give a damn, Melanie. I'm clearly bloody _fine."_ The word was spat in her face. "So you can go fuck off and mind your own damn business."

Melanie scowled. "Hey, if mum and dad are asking, I'm going to answer. You don't throw me from your room like that!"

Neville surged to his feet and stalked over to her. "That wasn't throwing you from my room." He grabbed her arm and hauled her to the door, ignoring her fighting and complaints. "_This_ is throwing you from my room." He yanked her through the doorway, and then threw her to the floor. _"Now you fucking stay out of my goddamn room!"_ He slammed the door on her and wished painfully that his wand hadn't been snapped so he could lock it again, better, and silence it. Melanie screamed at him.

"What the _Hell_ has gotten into you, Neville? I never did anything to deserve that! Why are you being so damn mean to me? I was just telling you mum was worried, is all! You're always out on your own! You're so _dead_ when mum gets home, I hope you know that!"

She stomped away, and Neville sank silently to the bottom of the door, feeling empty. He was out of line. He never should have done that to his little sister, but he was just so angry … so angry at everything, that having her show up meant there was someone to blame, someone to blow up at … He sure as Hell couldn't go after Bellatrix. But … he just blew up at his sister.

Tears began to fall from his eyes again, and Neville rubbed them away just as silently. He was curled at the bottom of the door and hugging his knees to himself. Dampness on the back of his neck told him he was still bleeding, still supposed to be in pain. He felt light-headed again, and then paused when he heard steps come closer again.

"Brother?"

The voice was light, and male. It was Connor this time. Would he blow up at his brother too?

"Neville, what happened? Melanie's pissed at you again."

"I lost my temper." Neville offered quietly. "I shouldn't have. It was stupid. I'm just stupid." He finished bitterly.

"Neville, did you hurt yourself?" Connor offered. His voice was a little louder, a little more confident. It was also mildly derogatory.

"I fell off my goddamn broom, Connor." Neville growled. "Hurt myself, my head, and snapped my goddamn wand. Go the Hell away." He buried his face in his knees. It might be easier to pretend, he thought. Pretend there hadn't been a witch on the forest floor. That he hadn't been raped. Maybe everybody would buy it too.

"You blew up at Melanie, and hurt her arm because you're too stupid to stay on your broom?" Connor asked incredulously. Neville didn't answer, and Connor sniffed and growled. "I hate you Neville. I can't believe that. You're so stupid!" He shouted. Neville heard him run off and wished he could take it back. Everything was just throwing it all out of whack. Everything was miserable. Silence would be best. Maybe it would get somewhere. Maybe if everyone went away the pain would go away too.

The horrible ache in his chest seemed to widen. Neville stared blankly at his room, unseeing, unthinking as silence came from the hall beyond. Thoughts whirled without end in his mind, and the shadow and light moved around his room.

He was startled by a knock on his door.

"Neville. Let me in."

It was his mother.

Neville sprang to his feet and opened the door, keeping his face blank as he wondered what would be coming. He'd probably hurt Melanie; she'd have told them immediately. They'd have heard what he told Connor too. Could he correct them? Could he tell his mother what happened? Could he …

"Neville, Connor tells me you said you fell off your broom and hurt yourself. What's injured?"

Neville didn't immediately answer. He was struggling with himself. To tell, or not to tell? He'd been so stupid, playing with the wards. Flouting them like that. It must have been a huge beacon for anybody looking that way. He'd gotten himself hurt because of it. It was all his fault, how could he try and shift the blame elsewhere? Better to keep silent.

Wasn't it?

His mother sighed angrily. "Neville, what the Hell is going on? You threw Melanie out of your room. Her arm _bruised._"

It was too much.

"She was being a nosy brat!" Neville growled. "I didn't want her in my room and she just barged in, yelling at me! It was no more than she deserved!" _Hurt? She was hurt? She hadn't been the one _raped_! She hadn't been tortured!'_

"Neville Tiernan Longbottom, _how _could you say that?" Alice shrieked. It made him wish he'd never spoken. "You do not manhandle your sister over a little argument. If you don't want her in there, tell her, and then lock your door! You certainly know enough spells to do a fine job of it, so don't you go blaming her! You are a part of this family, and will treat your siblings with respect. I don't care what happened earlier today, it's no reason to blow up at them and react like that."

Logic told him she knew nothing of what had happened. She would think otherwise if she knew. But his anger rekindled and he didn't want anything to do with thinking; thinking, reacting and not reacting, had gotten him hurt.

"_Fine!_ If you're so attached to those two, why don't you go comfort _them!"_ Neville shouted._ "_ Just _ignore_ me, it's not like it matters, it's not like _I'm_ hurt! Go salve their wounds; I don't need you! Just go the Hell away!"

Alice fisted her hands, and then stalked out of his room, pausing in the doorway. "I'll have a house elf bring you a small supper. You can wait up here until your father comes to speak to you. I'm locking your door; don't you _dare_ undo it."

"It's not like I could." Neville groused. "I broke my bloody wand when I fucked up outside."

Alice's face cleared slightly and she sighed. "Oh, Neville. It's fine to be choked up, but it was an _accident_ and doesn't warrant your treatment of your siblings. You will wait here for your father." The door shut, and she spelled it closed with something less than she would have used otherwise.

Neville walked to his bed and grabbed the towel off of it, applying it gently to the back of his head as he sank down beside it and leaned back, fighting down his renewed trembling. This was all going to Hell. Every goddamned thing. Maybe it would never come up. He seemed to have had enough trauma happen to him today to cover everything without even being hurt by a Death Eater. It hadn't even _hurt_; the cruciatus felt like a distant memory. Nothing had hurt, not the rape. Remembering made him tremble; tears leaking from his eyes as he remembered her hands running down his chest, cold against his warmed skin, his mind fixated on that feeling, thinking of nothing else. Her tongue licking gently at the back of his neck, at the blood, her hand wrapped around tender, willing flesh before it was sheathed in a damp warmth that welcomed it, hugged it close and milked it dearly for all sorts of pleasure …

Neville shook his head clear and then scratched at his arm, letting the pain pull him from the invasive, unwelcome memories of shameful pleasure. He didn't want to have gone through that! He didn't want to have that tainted so! It was all on top of itself, stacked so that Neville felt helpless to beat it back, helpless to change anything, to make anyone understand. No one would understand, no one would care that he'd gone through something, something so inexplicably horrible.

A soft pop called him from his memories and Neville scowled darkly at the cheerful looking elf. It's expression cleared immediately, and it placed the platter of food down silently and left without a word. Neville eyed the plate with disgust. He couldn't imagine eating; he still felt a pressing need to vomit, but couldn't find anything in his stomach to bring up. But he needed to eat…

He tried a few bites, eating the corn and ignoring the rest, the cooked fish and chips, the drink, taking only some water in addition. It didn't stay down. Within five bites, Neville lurched to his feet and darted into his bathroom. Ignoring the swinging sickness that came from the back of his head, he tripped and scrambled to the loo before vomiting, leaving behind ringing pain and a burning throat. He didn't know if it was the shame or the head injury, but neither could stomach anything to eat right then. It could even be the remnants of a short cruciatus, or even the too hot shower. Neville just stopped thinking, resting his head on the cool porcelain and waiting for the knock that should be coming. Maybe if he could force a question he couldn't avoid…

When five minutes passed and it hadn't come yet, Neville forced himself up from the loo and rinsed his mouth out in the sink. He felt marginally better, and then walked back into his room.

"Skally." He spoke quietly. The house elf popped back in, and Neville spoke quietly before it could greet him. "I can't eat right now. I feel mildly ill. Please, just leave a cup of water and take it away."

Skally nodded. "Of course, young master." A snap of Skally's fingers and the water glass moved to the bedside table, and then Skally picked up the tray and disappeared. Neville moved to take another long drink and then sat down on the edge of the bed, fingering the back of his head. It hurt a lot now, and felt swollen. It was still open, and still weeping blood sluggishly. It had almost sealed itself shut once more. A knock came on his door shortly before it was opened without waiting for the response Neville was unwilling to give. Neville waited with his hand subconsciously moved in front of him, bloody fingers easily within view. His father entered and then gasped quietly.

"Neville, what happened?"

Neville's mouth twisted a moment, and then he shortly answered, "I fell off my broom and hit my head on the way down."

His father sat immediately beside him and asked him to turn. "Where was it, exactly? How far did you fall?"

"I don't know." Neville dully answered. "Maybe twenty metres. I was … over the forest, by the Western boundary." _I was just outside the Western boundary. _ The traitorous thought finished without speaking itself.

Frank paused, clearly worried. "Twenty metres? Is this all that's hurt?"

Neville shrugged. "My hands are scraped. I fell into the branches of one of the evergreens. It broke my fall most of the way down." _Until it dropped me in front of Bellatrix._

Frank grimaced and sighed. "Have you been feeling sick?"

"I couldn't eat. I tried, but it came back up. It was just the corn."

"Dizzy?"

"I don't know. I think so." Neville grimaced. The imperius curse made it uncertain … how could he mention it?

"Ugh. Your mother needs to look at this; she'd know more about concussions than me. Lemme see your hands."

Neville obediently turned around and let him see. He never looked at his father directly. He couldn't face it, couldn't tell him. It was all just too much. A short spell from him healed the small wounds up and down his arms cleanly and without a trace. He cast a gentle cleaning spell at his neck and shirt, removing the excess blood and then a weak clotting charm that stopped the bleeding.

"Does it hurt right now?"

"No." Neville answered dully. Frank put a hand around Neville's shoulders and sighed.

"Your mother told me you broke you wand when you crashed."

'_Bellatrix broke it'_

"I know it hurts to lose your first wand, Neville, and to lose it in an accident like that is just not pretty."

'_It was useless to me when I needed it. I couldn't defend myself.'_

"You have a second wand – Moody told me of it – but does it suit you well, or do you want us to get you another one from Ollivander's?"

'_What good will it do?_ "I'd like another one from Ollivander's, please."

"Alright then. Now, will you come down and apologize to your siblings?"

"Sure, dad." _Why did he feel so deadened? _"I shouldn't have gotten angry at Melanie for something that was my fault anyways."

* * *

A/N: A bit more insight into the little problem of Neville after Christmas fifth year. Partially a bit of a curiousity on my part, studying the reaction pattern - psychology fascinates me. It's a bit raw for some, but *shrug* Similar will show up in sixth year, so be wary. This is how my story will go. If you don't like it, you may wish to back off now.

Fire & Napalm


End file.
